


The Mystery of the Monkey's Topaz

by ThymeSprite



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Jewelry, Service Animals, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:04:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThymeSprite/pseuds/ThymeSprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The entry in John watson's blog describing the "The Mystery of the Monkey's Topaz", the story of a seemingly inexplicable breaking and entering, which Sherlock solves within an instant.<br/>So business as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery of the Monkey's Topaz

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a contest and the only requirement was: "Include a piece of jewellery."

Dr. John Watson’s blog: “The Mystery of the Monkey’s Topaz”

Since I have started to report my strange adventures with Sherlock Holmes there have been many an occurrence I still cannot quite fathom.

The following incident is one of those which my friend Sherlock regarded as “totally transparent”, yet for me it will always remain “The Mystery of the Monkey’s Topaz”.

 

It was a bleak afternoon in late October, cold and uninviting, but still we had ventured out to Cartwright Gardens following Detective Inspector Lestrade’s request for help in a most peculiar case: a young woman had been knocked out cold and robbed although her flat had been safely locked.

Mysterious to me, but Sherlock stood in front of the Victorian building and after one long look he mumbled: “Only one way to get in.”

“You don’t even know which one her flat is!”, I objected, but he ignored me – as always. We entered the building and then the flat, bustling with officers of New Scotland Yard which made Sherlock bicker: “I hope Anderson is not here, he would’ve trampled over all the evidence I need, I’m sure of it.”

A young policeman showed us in and even I saw immediately that this was the flat of a young woman loving life. Colourful pictures decorated the wall, photographs of beautiful landscapes and even an impressive hat decorated with feathers rested high up on a cupboard.

Upon walking into the living room, we found Lestrade sitting next to a young woman who had clearly been crying, her long black hair dishevelled under the bag of ice she was pressing to the back of her head and her face both reddened and pale despite the natural dark tan. I offered to take a look at her wound and she smiled shyly as she nodded.

“Nothing much, you’ll be fine by tomorrow.”, I reassured her and she thanked me with a friendly smile before turning to my friend.

“Ah, Sherlock, good you’re here.”, Lestrade greeted us, but my friend briskly asked him, “This isn’t murder, as you may have noticed, what are you doing here?”

“Tereza is a friend, that’s why I promised her to get the best search for her stolen jewellery.”

Said Tereza got up from her sofa and nodded us hello before saying rather calmly: “Sorry to bother you with this. I told Greg that he shouldn’t, but I’m happy that you’re here nonetheless. My mother’s necklace has vanished and it must’ve been stolen. It isn’t worth that much, but it is of high sentimental value.”

Sherlock scoffed at this and told Lestrade: “Boring. Good evening.”

With that he turned to leave, despite my urge to strangle him for it, but it was Lestrade who stopped him: “Never mind its worth, but would you care to explain to me how a necklace disappeared from a locked flat where it was stored in a locked cupboard in a locked casket? Without any signs of a break-in anywhere? And how about the fact that only a worthless necklace disappeared, but nothing else? Neither laptop nor money?”

Sherlock stopped in his steps, turned around and asked the young lady: “Tereza, where is your cat?”

I stared at him, for I had not seen any signs of a cat.

“She’s with Mrs. Jefferson next door.”, Tereza explained somewhat helplessly, “She’s quite hissy around strangers so all the policemen would’ve freaked her out.”

Sherlock nodded and then asked: “Show me the cupboard.”

She nodded and led us to another room while I was still staring and trying to wrap my head around how Sherlock could have known that a cat lived here. He sighed and then listed: “Apart from the fact that there is cat fence in front of every window? There are scratches at the door frames and smudges of black goo, fresh, in the height of a cat, yet there are no hairs. It has to be a hairless cat because otherwise shed fur would’ve have shown among the really prominent dust on the floor.”

I was impressed, but poor Tereza cleared her throat in shame as we entered her bedroom and she pointed us to a cupboard that was wide open now, the key still in the hole. Upon one look of Sherlock, she explained: “I never open this window, that’s why it doesn’t have cat fence. Too expensive. The key is always in my nightstand, never in the hole and the key to the casket is usually in my drawer.”

After only a half-hearted glance, Sherlock completely ignored the cupboard that held more jewellery than I had ever seen outside of a goldsmith’s shop, and instead went to the window. He produced tweezers and his magnifying glass from his pockets, examined the window sill with his nose practically pressed to it. Then he suddenly jerked the window open, leaned out so far that I had to fight the impulse to pull him back for fear he might fall. He then examined the window closely and as he closed it, turned around to us and told Tereza: “It was recently opened. Is there a monkey in the house?”

“What?”, I asked, dumbstruck, but Tereza nodded slowly, “Yes. Poor Mrs. Drebber was struck with paralysis after an accident a few years back. Her son Sam got her a service monkey, James.”

At this, Sherlock laughed quietly to himself and then nodded at Lestrade: “You can send your simpletons of officers away, I’ve learned everything there is from this flat.”

Lestrade blinked at him, I guess we all did, but then Sherlock addressed Tereza, speaking softly: “Come, we should fetch your cat.”

Insecure, she turned to Greg, but he simply sighed and nodded at her before sending all the policemen away, who grumbled at Sherlock and could not be assuaged by my apologetic shrugging.

Tereza led us to the next door, but on the way she mumbled taken aback: “How do you know it was opened? And how did you know about James?”

Sherlock shrugged and simply said: “It was evident prima facie. You see, but you fail to observe.”

I wanted to slap my forehead, or even better his face for being so rude, but I resisted the urge and waited for Mrs. Jefferson to answer Tereza’s knocking. Soon enough, an old lady opened the door, a hairless, pink cat on her arms and she asked from the bottom of her heart, “Tereza, dear, how’s your head?”

“Fine, thank you. May I take Sol with me again?”

“Of course, love.”, the old lady smiled, “She’s totally giddy from all the excitement.”

Tereza took her meowing cat and we returned to her flat, but on the way, Sherlock reached for one of the paws to examine it. However, as predicted, Sol hissed at him and tried to scratch his face.

“Watch out!”, Tereza cried, “I told you she hates strangers…”

“I gathered that.”, Sherlock mumbled angrily and gave the cat a furious look, but she simply returned it out of blue eyes and hissed at him again.

“Fine, stubborn little beast.”, he then growled at the cat, earning yet another hiss before he turned to Tereza, “Would you show me its paw?”

She nodded, gently took Sol’s paw in her hands and showed it to Sherlock, much to the cat’s discontent.

“As I assumed.”, my friend smiled and ordered Tereza, “Bring her into your flat, we should pay your neighbour a visit.”

As soon as Sol was back in the flat, Sherlock briskly knocked at the door to the left, but no one answered the door.

“Sam is probably out…”, Tereza guessed but Sherlock mumbled, “Only for the better.”

And with this, he knelt down, produced his wallet and with a swift motion of his hands, I barely saw him put his credit card away again as the door sprung open.

“Sherlock!”, I cried at him, even though I had almost gotten used to his methods by now, but he did not even look at me or poor Tereza, gasping next to me.

“You can’t just…”, she whispered, but Sherlock, already in her neighbour’s flat, called out to us, “I just did.”

With a shrug, I followed him and so did Tereza, her eyes nervously looking all around whilst Sherlock went on rambling: “Empty wheelchair, so the monkey wasn’t busy anymore I assume. Now where is it?”

“How…?”, the girl beside me whispered, “How can you know she died a few weeks ago?”

“Obvious.”, Sherlock mumbled absently, “Wheelchair not moved for weeks, the flat a total mess, something you can’t do when having to nurse your mother. Where is it?”

He wildly dove into cupboards, tore open drawers just to forcefully bash them back in again, bitterly muttering: “This is the flat of an idiot, he can’t have hidden it somewhere too complicated for…”

“What the hell are ya doin’ in me flat?!”, an enraged shout reached our ears from the door where there stood a young, burly man, his face red with anger and his fists balled.

“You know that your neighbour was robbed?”, Sherlock asked without a care in the world, gazing him up and down, “Care to answer some questions?”

“I ain’t got nothing to do with it.”, he immediately and a bit too briskly told us, but Tereza chimed in, “No one said that, Sam, but please, you know how much I love mother’s necklace. That’s the only thing they took!”

“Aha, so you knew about the necklace.”, Sherlock noticed and looked around the flat as he added: “And I did say that it was entirely your doing. Almost entirely. Where is your mother’s monkey?”

“What’s James got to do with anything?”, Sam asked indignantly, nostril blaring in his fit of rage and as Sherlock strode through his flat and opened a window to look out of it, he cried: “Will ya stop that!”

I winced when soon after that a sharp cry followed and made us all spin around to look at a small capuchin monkey that had jumped onto Sam’s shoulder.

“You’ll leave my flat right now! You’re freaking James out!”, he complained, “He still hasn’t gotten over Mum’s death.”

“My condolences.”, Sherlock offered which startled me to no end, but he restored my view of the world when he continued, “Yet you have been able to train him to break into your neighbours flat.”

“What?”, Sam asked in shock to which I could relate, “What are you accusing me of?”

“Burglary and assault.”, my friend answered calmly, “Your mother suffered from quadriplegia and after her death, probably by your hand, even, you trained her service monkey, “Nature’s butler” James to break into Miss Tereza’s flat by opening the one window which isn’t secured with a cat fence and conveniently placed next to this window. You made him open the door for you, then you searched the keys and stole the necklace. James, funnily enough, had been so clever to avoid the cat, you on the other hand got scratched.”

Saying this, Sherlock grabbed Sam’s hand that was bleeding out of deep gashes as only a really furious cat would give a human being she resented.

“You took what you had come for, because you, in contrast to her, knew what it truly was. But then you heard her come home and so you had to silence her, so you knocked her out.”, he then explained in further detail before scoffing, “Next time you try faking a burglary, at least try to make it look genuine. Smash something, steal the obviously valuable jewellery as well. This was pathetic!”

Sam’s shoulders slumped down in defeat, a pitiable sight that would not fit to the enraged man we had just seen moments ago, and he plucked the monkey from his shoulder before ordering it: “Fetch it, James, will ya?”

The capuchin monkey ran off into another room and soon came back with a silver pendant. In its middle there was a sparkling blue gemstone surrounded by shining silver decorated with delicate roses and fine lines of silver ornaments.

“My necklace!”, Tereza rejoiced, but as soon as she had taken it from the monkey’s little hands, she looked at her neighbour, “Sam, how could you…?”

The young man only shrugged and Sherlock called: “Lestrade, come over here!”

Soon the burglar and his extraordinary accomplice were arrested, which made Lestrade wonder: “What the hell am I going to do with that monkey?”

I snickered to myself and guided Tereza back to her flat, offering to take another look at her wound. All the while Sherlock had been silent, busy typing on his phone, but all of a sudden Tereza asked him: “Thank you. But…how did you know all that?”

Sherlock shrugged and merely said: “It was child’s play. You said you had never opened that window, yet there was insulating material and a light brown hair on the sill. Clearly the window had been opened and as your cat had no fur, another animal had to have been there. A monkey was the only reasonable explanation and capuchin monkeys are often used as service animals.”

Having lived with Sherlock Holmes for months now, I nodded and understood that chain of deductions he had made, but Tereza was dumbfounded.

“Anyways.”, Sherlock then said, “What I have found now should be of more importance to you.”

Tereza blinked at him and he explained: “The necklace of your mother’s is far from having only sentimental value.”

“Come again?”, she asked and he showed her his phone on which there was an article about a blue topaz lost in Brazil more than a hundred years ago, “This is the long lost Monkey’s Topaz. Look closely and you will find that your necklace contains no other gem than this very one.”

“No…”, Tereza whispered and I simply stared at Sherlock, then at his phone again and he scoffed at my dumbfounded face before he rattled down: “Tereza clearly is of Brazilian heritage. Just look at the decorations in her hallway, the mask from the carnival, at the exclusively Brazilian landscapes. Plus, her feet are ridiculously small for a British woman, not even size 3. The necklace is old, well-worn, but polished and cared for, so it was of considerable value to the family. She thinks it isn’t worth anything, but why should her neighbour steal something that isn’t valuable, especially since he is a goldsmith and would know its worth when he saw it? Come on, John, even you must’ve seen the typical injuries on his hands! And the tools scattered all around the flat!”

I just shook my head, because I had not seen them. Or, as he would have put it, not “observed” properly.

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief: “Your brain must be so boring… Anyways. Tereza had no idea of the necklace’s worth, so clearly it had to be a lost gem no one knows about nowadays. The fashion by which the gem is mounted and the decorations speak of the handiwork of Victorian Britain, yet topazes are usually found in South America, especially blue topazes. As Tereza is of Brazilian heritage, Brazil was an educated guess and here it is, the Monkey’s Topaz, lost in 1889 when the owner’s daughter left for Britain.”

“That’s…when my great-great-great-grandmother married an English man and came to London.”, Tereza mumbled with a shy smile, “Mother loved to tell this story to me.”

Sherlock let his phone slide into his pocket and remarked: “If your ancestor was that said daughter, the gem is rightfully yours. And I may be wrong, but I guess this necklace could be worth more than 5000 pounds.”

Our client gasped in shock, but Sherlock only smiled at her and left.

“Good luck!”, I wished her, for I knew nothing else to say and then hurried to follow my friend who had already managed to stop a cab by the time I reached him. I really wonder how he always does that…

“That was bloody amazing!”, I exclaimed, but he only rolled his eyes and muttered, “Child’s play, as I said. Today isn’t a good day, even the case was boring.”

I asked our cabby to drive us to Baker Street, but all the time I wondered both how he had solved this case within such few moments and how he could still be bored. And then, I realised in shock, I had to find something to occupy his mind and soon.


End file.
